


Wetnurse Woes

by Quiet_Shadow



Series: The Woes Series [14]
Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Breastfeeding, Dubious Consent, M/M, Other, Sparklings, Uniforms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2849801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of his disastrous short tenure at being Magnus, Sentinel Prime can't stay in the Elite Guard... at least officially. It doesn't mean the Guard doesn't have further use for the destitute mech, who now play the spies while working on odd jobs across the Commonwealth.<br/>His latest mission? Infiltrate the house of the merchant Swindle as a staff member and investigate.<br/>Now, Sentinel wouldn't mind that much... if the position open on the staff wasn't that of a wetnurse for Swindle's newborn heir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas everyone!  
> Here's another gift for this merry day. First introduced in '28 Woes', for those of you who follow the fic, 'Wetnurse Woes' is one of the many Sentinel fics I worked on this year. Sadly, the project is currently stalled/on hiatus, as I struggle with other fics projects for which I have more ideas, plus plain old laziness and lack of inspiration to continue this one.  
> Usually, I don't post unfinished projects... But given it's Christmas and since some people were curious, here's a first chapter of this 'verse.  
> Enjoy your present. ;)

_Neutral Colony Ax-VI of the Rigel System_

Aldebaran was a nice town. Nice in the sense the buildings were pretty. People had always put their mind and talents into creating appealing decors, from spotless, luxurious habitations to flourishing gardens of crystals and organic plants. It wasn’t to say the town didn’t have a lower, poorer part -- for it had -- but most when one first thought of Aldebaran, he first thought of the private villas and manors build by some of the richest ‘bots of the Autobot Commonwealth, as well as some aliens species and Neutrals who had elected Ax-VI as the ideal place to build their secondary residences.

Balas Manor was one of such residences. Even to the casual observer, it was a marvel. Tall walls of varying rose colorings, changing shades with the light of Rigel’s two suns and one moon, pierced by large windows with precious stained glasses. A deep-blue roof, made from semi-precious stones. A white marble terrace surrounding the whole house, with multiple stairs leading to the large park surrounding the house. Fountains and statues abounded, adding a decorative touch to the otherwise spotless, perfectly cut lawns. Alleys were neatly delimited by row of neatly cut bushes covered in odorant flowers, and shining crystal plants. Tall trees in the back seemed to protect the house with their shade. Every details was just… perfect, showing taste and wealth.

It always amazed Aldebaran’s inhabitants to see just how well the Manor had been restored over the orns. For vorns, it had remained abandoned. The proprietors, a wealthy couple of industrials, had died in a shuttle crash, leaving behind a young, only Creation who had been promptly whisked away to be raised on Cybertron by his Sire’s lawyers, while they themselves oversaw the fortune and the various businesses.

In truth, nobody had ever thought the young heir -- who was now an adult -- would ever come back. Some had thought that the property would be sold, given how little care it have been given until then. Surely the heir wasn’t interested in coming back or had been dissuaded from doing so. Thus why, when the first artisans came to repair and redecorate, people started to whisper and wonder. Then, three vorns ago, the heir, young Master Smokescreen, came back after all, several servants in his wake, and took to living in the now fully liveable Balas Manor.

More than the servants, though, he had also brought with him a Bonded, a mech seldom seen but who was rumored to be the one who truly made the financial empire work. A mech who was rumored to work for the Decepticons.

Now, no one in Aldebaran truly cared; Ax-VI was neutral, even if the Rigel System was situated right in the middle of the Autobot Commonwealth. Simply put, however, most of its inhabitants couldn’t care less to which faction someone pretended to belong. So long they weren’t disrupting the peace, then they were welcome.

That Swindle mech might have had purple optics and a shrew business sense, but he wasn’t causing a disturbance, and he was Bonded to one of the richest mechs currently living on the planet. So, Aldebaran’s inhabitants could be excused for not caring.

Especially given the most recent development in the lives of Balas Manor’s inhabitants...

*-*-*-*-*-*

The Pit was he doing here? Sentinel shuffled nervously as he waited in the hall, trying to calm himself. Every few kliks, he glanced at the door to the private parlor where the… ‘interviews’ for the new position opening in Balas Manor’s staff were directed. Then he lowered his head and glanced at his hands, clasped tightly together in his laps.

Primus, why had he even accepted to come?

Oh, right. He was still an Autobot, even if he wasn’t a Prime anymore. He grimaced as he thought back about the public humiliation that had been his demotion ceremony. Officially, he had been discharged from duty and wasn’t an Autobot anymore. At least, not one involved in any way or shape about military duties. He was officially an Autobot civilian, living off a small pension allotted by the Elite Guard, for he had been a high-ranked officer and, even disgraced, he was still allowed some privileges.

That was, as he had said, the official version.

The true, unofficial version, unknown to the public at large, was that he was secretly working for the Intelligence Department in some capacity. After all, what better cover for an Agent than being a down-on-his-luck ‘bot, publically thrown out after a mess Sentinel still claimed wasn’t his fault, desperately seeking work anywhere he could find it? Not that it was fully a cover; Sentinel’s pension wasn’t much to live with, and he needed more steady incomes. Sadly, most businesses on Cybertron were… reluctant to take him as an employee. Thus his need to try his luck in the various colonies and Autobot-affiliated worlds of the Commonwealth.

The disgraced Prime had to reluctantly acknowledge that Intelligence workers weren’t wrong about it. Nobody had questioned it when he had postulated for a waiter job in that cantina on the outskirt of the Commonwealth, where traders and contrebandiers exchanged news they wouldn’t have spoken about anywhere else, or when he had tried his hand at as a cleaning ‘bot in an hospital suspected to steal transformation cogs from recently deceased patients to sell them on the black market…

In both cases, it had helped the Guard stopping traffics and arresting criminals, and thus it had lifted Sentinel’s mood, as well as given him some hope that perhaps, soon enough, he could go back to being a proper Autobot.

Oh, he knew it would take time, he held no illusion about it. The High Council hadn’t been happy with him -- and worse, neither had Ultra Magnus. His demotion hadn’t been a shock, for he had foresaw it, but it had been painful all the same, and in a way, he supposed he ought to be grateful he hadn’t really been stripped of his Autobot status. Still… Sentinel couldn’t be the proud, dashing officer he had been until now, and he couldn’t claim the title of Prime anymore -- nor the titles of Minor or Major, sadly -- but he could still try and regain some of his former power and glory by doing… doing mere grunt work.

He sighed.

What a blow to his pride it had been when he had started to work as a dock worker on Opulus, right after having been convinced to leave Cybertron due to… budget problems, as well as some degradations done to his habitation.

Being a dock worker had been hard… and far from his first choice. He was -- had been -- a Prime, after all, so surely it proved just how competent he was to any possible employer? Unfortunately, said employers didn’t seem to think like Sentinel, and he had found himself getting scarce answers to his applications. None of the most prestigious jobs he had aimed at had been willing to take him in, and with a heavy Spark, he had to resolve himself to just scrap plans for a comfortable, long-time job and do with odds and ends for a while.

Thus how he had started to take small jobs after another, starting with working on the space ports of Opulus. Lifting and transporting charges had been something he had considered below him -- well, he still considered it below him -- but he hadn’t had a choice. It was that or moving to Junk and… help sort out and recycle trash.

Brr.

The mere idea of all the germs and virus one could find on Junk had lead him to jump at the ‘chance’ to do something more… ‘respectable’, even if the wages of a dock workers weren’t much. Despite having to face rough time, Sentinel absolutely refused to do anything he considered too messy… or anything that would get him to use too much of his precious stock of cyber-sol spray. Those cans weren’t cheap, and Sentinel didn’t want to imagine living without them.

Anyway, the dock worker thing had lasted only two orns, after which a stronger, larger ‘bot had been hired in his place, and he had to find alternate employment. By that time, he had kinda hoped that he’d be able to go back to Cybertron secure himself a job, even a part-time one, as a Data-Archivist for the Civilian Guilds, for he had had a small experience in that kind of job when he had done an internship alongside Optimus and Elita back when they were in the Academy.

Sadly, his candidature had been rejected, or at least it had been on Cybertron. His resume had still caught the optic of a minor company in the colonies, and without any better offer, he had accepted. So, from Opulus, he had moved to Floron III to do some data-sorting and secretarial work for a mining company. The job had been better paid and certainly less tiresome than the dock worker one, but the contract had ended fast -- they had only needed someone to fill in while their usual secretary was on a sick leave. That was not to say Sentinel hadn’t been appreciated by his employers. They had offered him a job as a miner once his first contract had ended, but Sentinel had balked at that… and had ended up moving toward Elba to go scrub floors. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was certainly cleaner than mining.

Then there had been more scrubbing. Washing the dishes in a popular bar/restaurant on Dromadon. Doing deliveries in the Beta System. Working as waiter for some socialite party. More scrubbing. More deliveries.

And, every now in between, some spying and reporting to the Intelligence Office of the Elite Guard, depending if they needed his services or not.

He grunted a bit as he shifted, balancing his weight from a foot to the other. He wished they trusted him a bit more already, or that they used his services more often. It was always more gratifying to tell himself that his grunt work served a bigger purpose than just helping him live above poverty level. It also showed him that, despite his… ‘mistakes’ that he didn’t think were mistakes, his superiors still recognized his qualities. That said… They didn’t seem in a hurry to have him reintegrate the Autobots any time soon.

‘Still too raw’, they said. ‘No point in going back to Boot Camp yet’, they said. ‘Public needs to forget a bit about you still’, they said.

Well, they weren’t invalid arguments, Sentinel had to acknowledge that. Public outcries tended to last long on Cybertron, especially when the public was very ticked off. And people had been most upset to learn about the little misshape with Omega Supreme and his attempt to blown him up that could have resulted in planetary damages…

Yeah, he could reluctantly acknowledge that getting publically back into the Autobots ranks, even as a mere Cadet, wouldn’t be a smart move right now. But frag… he was supposed to be an officer! Not a grunt! And not a full-time spy like that Agent Blurr that had -- freakily -- managed to survive getting crushed into almost scrap!

He took a deep breath to try and cool down his frame.

He wasn’t cut out to be a real Intelligence Agent, he knew that. He had known it since the orientation exams in Boot Camp, when he had qualified for Officer training at the Academy. Intelligence had been very low on his aptitude tests. That wasn’t to say he couldn’t do that, of course. He had the basic training, after all, and Intelligence had made him train a bit before sending on his first info-gathering mission. He knew the comms frequencies and the right codes, he knew where were the ‘secret mailbox’ he could use, he even had contacts he saw every now and then and who told him if his services were required. And his cover was, in the eye of the new Prime in charge of the Intelligence Department, perfect.

Sentinel wasn’t so sure about it. However, it was true that the collections of odd jobs on his resume, coupled with his public disgrace, made him below suspicion when some of the morally dubious mechs or outright criminals he was charged to watch decided to hire him. The more struggling he appeared to be, the less likely he was to be suspected to still be in contact or be working for the Autobots.

Of course, in turn, that meant he couldn’t access any funds outside of his main account -- and so the little primes he received upon the completion of his missions for the Intelligence Department were reversed on a separate, discreet account he wouldn’t be able to use for quite some time, unless in case of dire emergency. Which, to his chagrin, didn’t involve renewing his stock of solvents, soaps and wax.

He shifted again, trying to hear through the heavy double door to his left, but no sound filtered. The room where the interviews were handled was soundproofed. No way to know how much longer it was going to last. Sentinel shuttered his optics for a moment.

What was he doing here again?

Of all the stupid, random, weird and disturbing jobs he had ever heard of or tried to take, coming here, for a staff position, took the top!

Oh, if it had been a normal staff position, Sentinel would certainly had felt less like grumbling. He could have handled being a private secretary, or a servant, or a gardener or a butler. Yes, he felt reasonably certain he could have handled that kind of jobs with little trouble. But no. He wasn’t here for that.

He was here to pretend to the position of… nanny and wetnurse to a newborn Sparkling.

And to top it off, he was supposed to be a nannybot to **Swindle’s** Sparkling, of all mechs!

Did Intelligence seriously think it had any way to work? Come on, they were speaking about Swindle here! The most well-known arms dealer this side of the galaxy! A ‘bot who was reputed for his cunning, his wariness and his silver-tongue, among other things! A ‘bot that Sentinel had ‘arrested’ himself on that dirt ball called Earth, and he rather doubted the arms dealer had forgotten about it.

… Well, given he had run off with about half of the Steelhaven’s weapons after looting the ship while Optimus and the rest were fighting off the escaped Decepticons, and given how much profits he probably made over selling them, the purple-optic mech had little reason to forget about the whole incident.

Sentinel shook his head.

Yeah, it was stupid idea to come here and try to pretend everything was fine. There was no chance Swindle would pick him up, despite what Intelligence seemed to think.

Come on, Sentinel had no true experience with Sparklings -- aside of a few hours here and there devoted to watch over Younglings in his neighbors for pocket credits, and the occasional motivation speech/Elite Guard tour in the Youth Sectors on Cybertron to explain how important the Elite Guard was to young Sparklings. There was also his time acting a CO for the Jettwins, but he didn’t think it counted…

Honestly, if they wanted to place a plant in this household, they should have asked someone else -- someone with actual experience and someone Swindle didn’t know or had some history with. Surely, there were mechs or femmes in the Intelligence Department that could meet those requirements? Sure, Swindle was a ‘bot who bore watching -- especially now that it had been revealed he was the Bonded of Smokescreen, Heir to the SilverBullet Financial Empire -- but if they wanted to put him under surveillance so badly, couldn’t they use real professionals?

How the Pit had it happened without Intelligence noticing anyway? Until the tabloids started publishing pictures of the couple together, then announced the birth of Smokescreen’s heir not even three stellar cycles after Megatron’s capture, Autobots had been utterly clueless, and the higher ups and Intelligence staff had screeched. Who had let a known arms dealer/morally dubious merchant get close and woo someone who had parts and investissements in most of Cybertron’s factories and banks?!

… Granted, Intelligence had been manned by a traitor for thousands of stellar cycles, so Shockwave had probably hidden any and all references and perhaps even helped Swindle in his projects, there was no way to know.

The results, however, were there. Swindle had wormed his way into one of Cybertron’s biggest industrial and financial empire. He had somehow managed to make his union to Smokescreen validated, and now there was a Sparkling in the mix, nobody could contest his claims to the fortune, as it was the ultimate proof the Bond was valid. And of course, given the mech’s reputation, High Command was on edge, wondering what the tan and purple mech was plotting now. Nothing good, they gathered. He could be preparing anything, from selling Autobot’s state-of-art technology to the Decepticons or sabotaging productions in the factories he was now administering alongside his Bonded. And what was young Smokescreen’s role in all that? Was he a willing accomplice? A traitor? Was he being coerced? There was no way to say at this point.

So… Yeah. Having someone infiltrated in the household to try and gather intel on the couple and its activities was necessary. But it didn’t stop Sentinel to think it was stupid to send him.

How could Intelligence be so sure he’d get picked up? Because they were certain he would, for some reason, and had helped finance some slight… changes in his body in preparation for his future job and role.

The blue mech glanced down at his chest with a grimace of distaste. He would have liked to forget he was ever onlined with feeding pouches -- as did most mechs and femmes ‘naturally’ born from a Carrier and a Sire, unlike the Allspark-infused mechs, who lacked these distinctive parts which had never been build in the protoform -- and he had lived pretty happily without thinking once about using the damn things until now.

Then Intelligence had started to mess over with him, having him check out with a cheap medic -- for more cover’s sake -- who had gotten rid of the various codes that had until now made Sentinel’s pouches inactives, and making him go through a series of injections. Boosters and mineral supplements of all kinds, for the sole purpose of making his production of Sparkling-grade energon of better quality, thus making him more susceptible to get chosen as the future wetnurse Swindle and Smokescreen were searching for.

Sentinel had scoffed and swore, telling them exactly what he thought of the plan the very moment his pouches had started to fill for the first time and Sparkling-grade energon had started to leak out of the nubs. He still shuddered when he thought about it. So messy… and wrong! He had felt the urge to wipe it away immediately and had fumbled with the command to have the pouches emptied. Though he had found the commands after a moment, the Sparkling-grade energon he had produced had been promptly pumped out of his pouches, then bottled up so that the former Prime could send over a sample with his resume.

Applicants were supposed to, after all, and only the ones producing the best quality of energon were supposed to receive an interview with the future employers.

Which made Sentinel rather twitchy. How was he supposed to take the fact he had indeed been asked to come? Was his energon production really that good ? Or was it just some plot from Swindle to lure him into a trap so he could avenge himself over his capture? Sentinel wouldn’t have put it past him.

Then again… what reason did Swindle have to try and get revenge? It wasn’t as if Sentinel had mistreated him or anything! Eck, he could even argue he had actually saved the mercenary from those nasty organics!

… From a certain point of view.

Arg! The wait was starting to kill him! How long was the interview currently going to last again? The Prime checked his chronometer, and was dismayed to find almost no time had passed. He wanted it over and done, slag it! Either he’d get the job and start his surveillance, or most likely, he wouldn’t get it and would leave with a lighter Spark, no matter what the Guard thought. Sure, it would hinder his progresses toward becoming an official Autobot again, but given how things were going… Well, it wasn’t like he was in a hurry. Or rather, it wasn’t like the universe was in a hurry to go along with his plans.

Sentinel sighed and shifted nervously again, trying to calm himself down. It wasn’t going to work. He just knew it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whereas Smokescreen knows Swindle has a plan already, and little Shylock is fussy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Sentinel in this chapter, sadly, but a lot of Swindle, Smokescreen, and a tiny Sparkling. =3

“Well, thank you for coming. We will contact you soon to let you know of our decision,” Swindle said smoothly as the hopeful would-be-wetnurse rose from her seat and was directed to a side door to leave the private parlor. The tan and purple mech watched the candidate go with a thoughtful look, but didn’t say anything until the Minibot Maid had closed the door and he had heard the sounds of steps in the distance.

Humming, he turned toward his mate. “Well, what did you think?” he asked, eyeing his Bonded with a small smile.

Sitting almost regally in a comfortable seat, their bitlet in his lap, Smokescreen raised an optic ridge even as he lightly stroked the back of little Shylock. “What would you want me to think, dearest?” he asked, his doorwings fluttering slightly in amusement. On his lap, Shylock, curled into a ball, yawned, his own doorwings fluttering slightly, and both Creators cooed at the cute display.

“It seems our dear Shylock isn’t very impressed with this candidate,” Smokescreen chuckled.

“So it seems,” Swindle nodded, approving as he rubbed a thick digit over his young son’s back, right between his doorwings, a spot he knew as highly sensitive on all ‘bots having sensory back panels. The Sparkling chirped in approval before curling anew in his Carrier’s laps. Swindle chuckled. “I think the little tyke already has an optic for quality.”

“And a taste for it as well,” Smokescreen added, nodding and smirking. “You noticed he barely suckled anything out of this one. It seems the energon wasn’t to his taste… which is regretful, I must admit, because Swaddle’s resume was interesting,” he mused aloud.

“It was,” Swindle allowed, CPU reviewing the high points of their latest candidate’s resume. An experience caretaker watching over youths in the local kindergarten structure, though not a professional wetnurse. He compensated by having two Sparklings of his own that he had fed and raised by himself, so he did know how to properly take care of a newspark. On the paper, a good candidate. The downside… well, they’d have to also shelter his Sparklings here, his wages would be a bit more than what Swindle had hoped to pay, and worse: Shylock didn’t seem convinced at all by the sample he had suckled out of the adult mech’s pouch.

That, Swindle admitted, was a bigger problem than the rest.

“I’m hesitant to put Shylock in the care of a mech he doesn’t seem to be interested in,” he finally confided to his mate. “After all, we’re recruiting his wetnurse, his main source fuel for the next few stellar cycles -- unless you wish to feed him yourself, which we both know you don’t intend to,” he added and Smokescreen grimaced a bit. As much as his mate loved their young son, breastfeeding him wasn’t on his agenda, especially given how full it already was. Swindle could sympathise. As happy as he was to see his heir unfurl, he had no intention to take a break from his activities, especially not now that the entirety of Smokescreen’s inheritance would be placed in their hands. He continued. “It stands to reason we should first and foremost choose someone who will provide him with Sparkling-grade energon to his taste. And so far, I’m afraid our little Prince isn’t convinced by what he sampled.”

“I don’t deny it should be someone Shylock is comfortable with. But all the same, must we prefer someone who doesn’t have any qualifications to work with Sparklings above someone who does?” Smokescreen asked, obviously not fully convinced. He petted the mechlet in his laps softly, and Shylock leaned into the touch, almost mewling like a cyber-kitten. “As much as I want to spoil my bitlet rotten by giving him the best there is, I’d feel better knowing he’s with someone who can properly take care of him.”

“Hmm,” Swindle hummed, shrugging. “Decision, decision. Experience is something that can be gained over time, and I’m not against hiring a beginner to the trade, so long I think he might be relievable. I’m sure we can find a good compromise somewhere between experience, production quality and whatever we decide to seek first in our applicants.”

“So long we save on money?” Smokescreen drawled, making Swindle raise his hands in defense.

“Now, now, let’s not be hasty in such conclusion. That’s not what I said at all. I was just implying that…”

“That you have something or someone precise on your mind already,” Smokescreen inserted smoothly. “I know. You wouldn’t have mentioned the possibility of hiring a beginner wetnurse if you hadn’t. At the same time, I also know you well enough to know that you would be quite willing to pay any price for the ‘cream of the cream’ if you thought it was worth it. Money never factors in when you think you can reap bigger benefits than what you invested,” he mentioned casually.

“As if you didn’t share the same mindset,” Swindle chuckled, his voice full of fondness as a coy smile answered him in turn. Shylock chirped quietly, sensing the amusement running between his Sire and Carrier, and he uncurled a bit, looking at his Carrier with his large purple optics.

Swindle flashed a grin at the little mech, his Spark feeling immensely proud each time he saw him. Shylock had his optics and shared some of his colorings, but he looked far more like his Carrier, to the point of looking like a miniature Smokescreen. Already, he could guess the Sparkling would be lithe like his Carrier, with the same little chevrons over his helm, and the same proudly erected doorwings -- though for the moment, they were just little nubs in comparison.

He looked so utterly adorable… and if he favored his Carrier in looks, then he would become a real Spark-Breaker, which was always a bonus when doing business; being a handsome fellow helped put potential clients at ease, just as a good silver tongue could make them buy almost anything from you. Swindle nodded approvingly to himself as he considered his bitlet’s future. He’d make sure Shylock would be a credit to him and Smokescreen when the right time came.

But that time was still far way, and for now, he had to concentrate on the present… And getting his precious newspark a free high-quality fuel-source who would double as a caretaker while Swindle and Smokescreen busied themselves with ruling the financial empire under their name.

He leaned forward and took Smokescreen’s hand in his before kissing it softly, making his Bonded’s engine rumble pleasantly. Such a pretty face… and such a good head and a good CPU, with a Spark that appreciated a good bargain as much as Swindle’s own did, though Smokescreen wasn’t as interested by profits -- at least, not to the extant Swindle himself was. A pity, given how good the other mech could be at business, despite having been raised by mechs who had only be too willing to have him as removed as possible from the actual handling of his fortune and financial empire.

Smokescreen had played them all quite magnifically, the Neutral/sort of Decepticon-inclined mech thought with admiration. Not only had he managed to learn despite everything, but he had also managed to get the full content of his Creators’ Will ahead of time and plan accordingly to fill the conditions to inherit, without getting trapped into the mold his lawyers and the Board had prepared for him.

Ah! As if Smokescreen would have settle to be some sort of household mech, while his Bonded -- carefully chosen for him by his tutors, of course -- actually ruled the empire!

“I admit that I’m not adverse to that state of thinking,” Smokescreen allowed easily, his doorwings fluttering. “But I won’t play with my son’s life -- and neither should you,” he added, optics flashing briefly in warning.

“I have no intent to play with Shylock’s life and health,” Swindle answered, his own optics darkening. Honestly, he may be a shrew businessman who was ready to sold about anything and everything to anyone, but even he had standards!

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t trying to work on some sort of plan to have a cheap deal,” Smokescreen remarked. “And frankly, I’d feel more at ease if you’d let me on that little inner joke that seems to amuse you so much each time you think I’m not looking at you.”

“Inner joke?” Swindle repeated, trying to sound innocent. “Honey, I don’t see…”

Smokescreen raised a hand to stop his spiel before it had even started. “You’re rubbing your hands when you think nobody is watching -- or when you think they can’t see you. You tend to chuckle for no reason after spacing out. And you usually do so each time you’re sorting through the resumes we received for our wetnurse announce. So,” he drawled, “care to share with the rest of us mortals what is so amusing? From the look of it, I think we received a candidature from someone unexpected. Perhaps some old business partner of yours, who knows? But anyway, whoever it is has you giggling. So I’m going to extrapolate and guess it’s because you didn’t leave each other on good terms and you’re thinking of using it to your advantage. Am I wrong?”

Swindle paused and stared at his Bonded for a moment, considering, before he started to smirk. “Well, you aren’t that far off the truth. You didn’t look at all the resumes yourself, I think?”

“How could I?” Smokescreen answered. “I was on berth rest and far too tired for that. Besides, you said you’d deal with it, and that I just had to review the final applicants with you.”

Swindle nodded. “So I did. I guess then that this particular document might have escaped your notice, dearest,” he said as he pulled a datachip out of subspace and handed it to the blue and red mech.

Smokescreen activated it and peered at the holographic content, doing a once-over before pausing and doing a double-take on the picture at the top of the display. “Is that the former Magnus?” he asked, raising an optic ridge, voice full of disbelief.

“Indeed. Let me present you the last of our applicant, Sentinel Prime… Well, I guess it’s just Sentinel now,” Swindle smirked. Smokescreen glanced at him before resuming his reading, frowning as he did so.

“How the…” he stopped himself from swearing as he glanced down at the Sparkling in his laps. At this age, a Sparkling’s memory files could be accidentally erased and mainly held short-term memory, but he wasn’t about to teach his son how to swear, not when he couldn’t even crawl yet. “May I ask how the illustrious Acting Magnus ended up sending us a resume for a staff position?” he said instead, taking a deep inspiration through his vents to try and calm himself. “I mean, shouldn’t he be in some sort of remote base in the middle of nowhere? Or doing some administrative gig in a closet of the Metroplex?”

“They threw him out, remember?” Swindle pointed out, raising an optic ridge. With how public the whole thing had been, he hadn’t thought his Bonded would have forgotten already. Pit, Swindle had recorded and taped the whole thing, for he had found himself very pleased by the outcome, especially given the small matter of having been held prisoner on the Steelhaven…

“What, you mean they really threw him out? The Elite Guard?” Smokescreen asked, tilting his head to the side. “I thought they had just demoted him and put him as far away from the spotlight as possible.” At his Bonded’s amused and puzzled look, he raised his hands in defense, mindful of the Sparkling in his laps. “Come on, they never did that to anyone… at least, not to anyone since the Great War, if I remember right. Anyone they caught being an idiot or doing something stupid or dangerous was just demoted and shoved in a cooling unit for a while -- sometimes all of their career. I remember hearing about a Cadet that caused the accidental death of one of his fellow trainees, and they just send send him out of Cybertron on some sort of Repair Crew instead of letting him go. And didn’t they do the same thing with a trainee who almost killed his Drill Sergent on the obstacle course?” Smokescreen babbled.

“Well, I suppose even the Guard isn’t about to cover the aft of someone who could have destroyed Cybertron,” the tan and purple mech answered nonchalantly. “It’s far more serious than accidental, potentially deadly injuries on a fellow Autobot or someone filling the wrong reports or causing a general blackout in their HQ, after all.”

Smokescreen hummed. “True enough,” he allowed. “But still… you’re sure the guy is clear? He isn’t a spy or anything, is he?” He felt a bit ill-at-ease asking, but he needed to know. Having a former Autobot officer propose himself for a position on their staff was suspicious, there was no other way to describe it. It wasn’t so much a danger to Smokescreen, who was raised as an Autobot -- even if he had more ‘Neutral’ tendencies -- that it was for Swindle.

Smokescreen wasn’t naive. He knew that the fact that he, heir to one of Cybertron’s most important fortune and main investor in a handful of high-ranked business, had mated with a known arms dealer and Decepticon-aligned mech -- even if Swindle was more Neutral than Decepticon, as he was of the advice belonging fully to a faction just cut out part of your clients list -- wasn’t seen with a keen optic by a lot of ‘bots, starting with the Elite Guard.

Now, Smokescreen didn’t think his private life was any of their business, but he also knew that he would be watched quite closely for a while by those that feared he was about to betray the Autobots and affiliate himself with the Decepticons, taking out his credits and crippling Cybertron’s economy, and that of the Commonwealth at large. Mirage, who he considered a friend, had managed to give him some warning and input on the situation, for which he was grateful -- even if said warnings hadn’t been necessary. The blue and red mech had know what he was getting into. He just wished it didn’t weigh so much on his CPU, for he was now becoming more and more suspicious of, well, about everyone but some of his closest associates and oldest servants.

It was bothersome; one couldn’t do good business when he spend his time getting overly paranoid over the smallest matters.

“Doubtful. Very doubtful,” Swindle answered easily to the question, trying to sooth his obviously ruffled mate. “I’ve checked him over thoroughly -- him, and his bank account,” he added as an afterthought.

“Should I ask whose paws you greased in order to pull this off?” the doorwinged mech asked dryly. “Joking aside, you’re sure he’s clear?”

“As clear as an Autobot -- or former Autobot -- can be, I guess,” Swindle hummed. “Nothing suspicious about his bank account, at any rate. Little incomes, coming from a variety of odds jobs paid with minimal or less than average wages. Generally favorable reviews from all his previous employers, who make no secret they found him hard working, if perhaps a bit too prideful sometimes. No additional incomes from the Guard, aside of a Type 5 pension, the kind they give to disgraced ‘bots they don’t want to leave without any resources -- and no presence of a secondary account with secret funds, I searched for it but didn’t find one. I had also a few… ‘employees’ doing background check on him. No association with delinquents, criminals or any member of the Elite Guard. I also had someone check his mailboxes. He had had a couple of messages from some of his former acquaintances, such as the new Acting Magnus, but he never opened them, and he never send anything back. Aside of that… registration to some online magazines such as ‘Mars’, ‘Shining Mecha’, ‘CombatMech’, ‘Sweeper’... oh, and ‘Playbot’, the ‘Femmes’ variation only,” he added, lips twitching in amusement.

Hmm… Interesting choice, the doorwinged mech mused, and quite telling about the subscriber. ‘Mars’ was considered by most as the ‘mechly, Autobot equivalent’ of Venus, the (in)famous magazine ‘for Decepti-Femmes’; the bi-ornly publication favored articles such as ‘how to boost your popularity’, ‘how to attract a life-partner/mate’, celebrities interviews and reviews on events such as Rosanna or Windy’s concert or announcement for various shows.

‘Shining Mecha’ was quite different, as it was specialized in depicting the best care products, mainly oils, waxes and polishes, but also brushes and sponges, as well as paints, how to best use them to be as stunning as possible while still being ‘trendy’.

‘CombatMech’, on another side, was a darling of the Elite Guard and the Autotroopers, as well as of any civilians versed in self-defense, presenting new weapons and combat moves adapted to all sort of frame-types and easy to practice, while ‘Sweeper’ was a simple newsletter aimed toward promulgating hygiene and defense against virus and bacteriological agents, be they mechanical or organic in nature.

‘Playbot’... was self-explicationary. Everybot above Youngling age knew about the famous charm/porn magazine. Smokescreen himself… Well, suffice to say he had found in their pages quite a few things to fuel his fantasies while he resorted to self-service, be it the fantastical holographic pictures or the novels and short stories written by enthusiastic fans. Almost all the mechs Smokescreen knew had subscribed to that particular magazine, though many of them would never admit it aloud. It was however interesting to note Sentinel Prime was only subscribing to the ‘Femme’ one.

‘Playbot’, unlike many other publications of the same style, had been declined over time in several specialized issues, depicting a variety of different models. Truckbots, Minibots, Decepticons, Autobots, Flyers, Cyclebots, Femmes,... You could subscribe to any and all if you so wished, but the ones you did so betrayed your preferences in berth partners. In that case, it meant that Sentinel Prime had more a Femme fetish than anything else.

Coupled with the rest of Swindle’s assessment...

Smokescreen tilted his head to the side as he pondered aloud. “So… a loner, probably too proud to resume contact with his former friends or subordinates who can now all lord over him, unwilling to go to them for help, even if his financial situation is far from brilliant and they might be willing to help him. An hard working fellow, but someone who has troubles getting over the fact he isn’t top-cyberdog anymore. He’s also rather vain about his appearance and potentially scared, or at the very least hold a strong dislike, of germs of any kind. It indicates he must likes high quality care products and must make sure to well-maintain his frame and keep himself and his surrounding as clean as possible -- which might also apply to the people surrounding him,” he mused, leaning back in his seat as he reviewed all the elements at his disposition, trying to work out a psychological profile.

“Given these points, he’s most likely to be desperate for any long-term job he can find, or any job he could pretend to that allow him to have more than scraps. So far, he has been too prideful to take what he probably consider to be degrading jobs, even if they paid well, but one has to wonder how long such stubbornness can hold, given he had a high maintenance life until now and must be quite desperate to maintain it -- or try to, at any rate. Which might explain why he’s willing to try and take on the duties of a wetnurse.”

“It seems likely, yes,” Swindle approved with a nod as he knelt to the floor and make cooing noises at Shylock, who watched him with big, unimpressed optics. “Interesting, isn’t it?”

“That remains to be seen,” the doorwinged mech answered simply. “He probably wouldn’t argue about wages, which is always a plus -- but as we stated before, I’m willing to pay any price for someone worth it. Also, if he’s as concerned with cleanliness as I imagine him to be, I have no worry about Shylock ever catching a virus. However, I fail to see what else could be interesting about his application -- aside perhaps of boasting to my ‘friends’ that I have a former Magnus, even an Acting one, as my Creation’s wetnurse.”

“Ah, but dearest, you forget some details,” Swindle easily prompted as he made grimaces to amuse the Sparkling, who consented to smile a bit at his antics. So little and so serious looking already! Such cuteness! “Our dear Sentinel is a trained fighter; aside of being a nanny and wetnurse, he could also have his use as a bodyguard for our bitlet.”

Smokescreen tensed slightly, his optics darkening, and Swindle hastily continued. “I know you don’t like to hear things like that, but it’s always a danger when one is the heir of such a large fortune. Didn’t you tell me yourself attempts had been made toward you when you were young?” Smokescreen sagged. Swindle patted his hand gently as he continued. “Dirge and Thrust are competent, but they’re hardly mechs I’d let anywhere near a newspark. Having a nurse doubling as a bodyguard would be quite the bonus, yes?”

“... I suppose so,” Smokescreen finally allowed. “Though it isn’t the only reason you’re suggesting it, is it? What are you really planning? Please, be honest with me. A good partnership doesn’t allow for lies, as you often reminded me. So do tell me the true reasons you want that Prime as Shylock’s wetnurse -- for you have already decided it would be him, even if Shylock isn’t convinced. I know that look in your optics. Is it to humiliate him? As revenge for your capture on that organic planet?”

Swindle coughed. “Oh, you do know about…?”

The other mech gave him a look. “Swindle, dear, you may not remember because you were wasted, but you came back home after orns of absence, drunk on high-grade, smiling goofily, and claiming you had gathered ‘the sweetest pile of loot, ever’ thank to the Elite Guard, and one Sentinel Prime in particular. I made my own investigation on the side, just so you know.”

“... I can explain?” Swindle tried weakly.

“Explain what? That you were bested by Autobots, left to rust in some organic backwater prison -- and I prefer to think it was a prison and not a scrap yard, so please allow me that -- and that you were then captured by yet another Autobot who decided to use the open warrants in your name as an excuse to bring you in? And that the only reason you managed to free yourself was because he didn’t lock you inside a cell, and that you managed to free the other captives to run havoc on the ship?”

“... That’s about it,” Swindle allowed, feeling some relief over the fact Smokescreen didn’t have all the details or that, if he did, he wasn’t about to share them.

“So, it is about revenge?” Smokescreen asked, crossing his arms over his chest even as he looked down smiling at Shylock.

“It’s not!... Ok, perhaps it is, a little,” Swindle allowed when Smokescreen stared at him, obviously not convinced. “Though less than you think. If he hadn’t failed to secure me properly, I wouldn’t have been able to escape. Granted, he couldn’t have planned the effect of the electrical storms on my paralysis, but…” he shrugged. “Oh, he was overbearing and far too full of himself while I was under his thrall, but I saw worst. I’m certain I could even had cut out a deal with him had I been in any shape to communicate. Sadly, he wasn’t in the mood to try and perhaps I did felt miffled and possibly mistreated in the way he manhandled me. So yes, perhaps it is a bit about revenge, but far less than you think. It’s also about rewarding him…”

Smokescreen almost choked. “Rewarding? Seriously?”

“Well, yes. His actions directly or indirectly allowed me to escape the Elite Guard while making quite a profit, thank to the looted items I later sold off on the weapon market,” Swindle shrugged. “Yeah, yeah, I know I shouldn’t get involved in it anymore, and I know it’s small fry next to what is in your vaults. All the same, he made me win money, albeit accidentally, and I have always rewarded the mechas who permitted me to make profit in some way.” He purposely ignored Smokescreen’s muttering about his ‘help’ or ‘rewards’ being more about ‘profiteering’ than anything else. “I mainly want him because it would be a very good business deal on a number of accounts… And because ‘bots in his situation often forget to fully read contracts and pay no attention to fine prints,” he admitted sheepishly, knowing Smokescreen would prefer a full truth.

Smokescreen’s optics flashed briefly. “Is that so? Just what have you put in the contract you probably have already drafted with him in mind?”

“Now, dear…”

“Swindle. Contract. Now,” Smokescreen said with finality, a hand already stretched out, and it was clear he would bear no delay. Making a show of sighing, Swindle reached for his subspace pocket and took out another datachip he handed his mate without a word.

Smokescreen looked at the content carefully, raising one or both optic ridges at various points, muttering some sentences aloud several times as he fully took in the sense, smiled or even outright chuckled at some point, before shaking his head with an indulgent smile. “Oh my. And you wanted to pretend it is not about revenge at all?” he said as he handed the chip back to his Bonded.

“Now, these conditions are perfectly acceptable, and some are even traditional in some of the local households,” Swindle said with as much dignity as he could, even though he was fighting to not smirk.

“Clause 27-c, paragraph 3, you mean?” Smokescreen asked. “Yes, I noticed. Though it seems a bit…”

“Oh, it isn’t so bad, and it’s far less extreme and invasive than the ones practiced in Emirate Xaaron’s estate or in the Autotroopers Corps,” Swindle waved off as he reminded himself which clause it was. “If he’s going to be a wetnurse, then he should look closer to the part. It’s also the point of clause 27-d, you’ll have noticed. And beside, it could even be useful to him in the long run once we no longer need his services.”

“Hmm, potentially,” Smokescreen acknowledged as he took Shylock in his arms for a moment and rocked him gently before putting him back in his laps, the Sparkling clicking happily at the attention. “But I see those aren’t the only clauses you drafted out. 24-b again?”

The tan and purple mech coughed a bit. “Clause 24-b appears in all of our staff contracts…” he started.

“Something that please you very much, doesn’t it?” Smokescreen smirked.

Swindle shrugged. “What can I say? It’s not like you don’t also use it, and filling the clause isn’t an obligation at all, we don’t force anyone to anything. It’s just an… interesting way to get bonuses and speed up the accumulation of your days off.”

“That’s a way to put it, yes.”

The tan mech paused and looked at his mate carefully. “… you won’t get jealous if something happen, will you?”

Smokescreen chuckled. “You know I won’t; as you put it, I’m also using that clause. It’s not like we ever were exclusive or wished to be. I can only wish you good luck on your endeavour, though, because I have a feeling you’ll have your work cut out for you with this one. Assuming we hire that Sentinel mech, of course,” he added.

“Oh, Smokey, come on,” Swindle almost whined, and Smokescreen raised a hand.

“I’m not against the idea. You presented some good arguments -- even if I feel that using Shylock’s security to convince me was dirty blow. However, I won’t be completely sold off on the idea until Shylock has had a chance to suckle him. Do remember that, outside of your little fantasies, we’re mainly looking for someone who will be to HIS taste.”

Swindle threw his shoulders back and laughed, loud and clear, making the Sparkling in his mate’s laps chirp in wonder. “Oh, trust me. If Shylock is anything like me, then I think he’s going to get won over in little time…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, Sentinel's interview. :)  
> And after that... no idea. XD


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The job interview starts; will Sentinel convinces Smokescreen? For Shylock, it's certainly love at first sight...

“What a… charming Sparkling,” Sentinel said, trying to smile as he was made to sit in a couch facing Smokescreen’s seat. On his Carrier’s laps, the tan and blue Sparkling had perked up and sat, maintained by the steady but gentle grip of Smokescreen. Large purple optics were focused on him as a little helm was tilted to the side, miniature doorwings fluttering in interest.

“He is, isn’t he?” Swindle beamed. “Little Shylock is becoming our pride and joy. He’s such an intelligent bitlet,” he added smoothly, briefly stroking Smokescreen’s hand.

As he examined the newspark, Sentinel totally missed the look exchanged by both Sire and Carrier, both secretly pleased by the reaction of their Creation. A Sparkling’s reactions were always very telling, as their simple processors and sometimes over-sensitive sensors tended to pick on things an adult mecha couldn’t or wouldn’t pick. It wasn’t to say they were more intuitive than adults, for they weren’t; indeed, a Sparkling could find himself taking a liking to a mass-murder for unknown reasons, just as they could get themselves attached to the nicest, calmest mech there was.

Personalities never factored in a Sparkling’s liking, either. They could get enamored with a grumpy mech while totally ignoring the smiling mech next to him. What counted was the… ‘something’ they picked on. Some thought it was a particular variation in EM fields that caught their interest. Other thought it might come from Spark’s radiations. Other still, especially the religious nuts, thought that since Sparklings were still basking in Primus’ light, they were attracted to mechs who still held their Supreme Creator’s grace.

Personally, Swindle and Smokescreen’s were leaning more toward the EM field’s theory, especially given how much sensors were actually packed in their Creation’s chevrons and tiny doorwings.

So far, Shylock had stayed very quiet when they received the applicants would-be wetnurse. Until now, he had only perked up twice, and never so intently. He also hadn’t seemed to enjoy the fuel he had suckled.

:: _Very promising, isn’t it? Now, aren’t you convinced he’d be the ideal choice?_ :: Swindle send over a private comm, and Smokescreen nodded almost imperceptibly.

:: _I admit, you might be right. I never saw Shylock so… focused until now. However, this interview hasn’t started yet, and I’m reserving my judgement until he has answered a few questions._ ::

He looked at the former Acting Magnus curiously, though he tried not to be too obvious about it. Sentinel wasn’t half-bad looking. Though he wasn’t exactly Smokescreen’s type, the doorwinged mech had to acknowledge he was rather handsome, with his large shoulders, his broad chest, his large but rather good-looking chin, his tiny waist, and what Smokescreen thought was a fine-looking aft.

Yes, he definitely had interesting looks… but Smokescreen was quick to pick on the imperfections, and he knew Swindle must have noticed them as well. It was clear the former Prime had made effort to make himself presentable, applying some polish to his frame and spotting a recently refreshed paintjob. However, it was sub-quality: Smokescreen could see little nicks running over all of the blue mech’s frame, some less obvious than others, but still very present to anyone who bothered to look. The paint was perhaps fresh, but it was already chipping in some parts, near the wrists or knees for example, where little crumbs had already detached themselves. Just as well, the paint layer hadn’t been uniformly applied, and some brush traces were visibles under a certain light.

All in one, despite having made an effort to appear presentable and, should he say, as dashing as he had been on his propaganda videos, it was clear the mech before him had fell on hard times.

Smokescreen hesitated to say it was a pity. On one hand, it was always sad to see a ‘bot getting more or less destitute. On the other… well, the short time Sentinel Prime had acted as Magnus had had the business world in a frenzy to his total unbalance of the general planetary budget. Oh, Defense was fine and all, and it allowed you to produce and sell weapons, but what of the ones who didn’t work in those sectors? What of those who had had parts in the entertainment business or the Universities’ researches thank to the funds they generously allowed them? Smokescreen knew of one mech or two who had lost good credits because of it.

On this point, the new Acting Magnus, Optimus Prime, was much more sensitive, though Smokescreen didn’t think he’d remain Magnus for long. Either someone else would be sworn in when Ultra finally keeled over, or the current Magnus would recover and resume his charge. At this point, the advices were split.

But it wasn’t the subject at hand here. They were here to see if that Sentinel ‘Prime’ had what it took to be his precious Creation’s wetnurse, and Smokescreen wasn’t 100% sold on the idea. He intended to learn a lot about the mech before giving his seal of approval, even if Swindle had already decided it would be him, and Shylock didn’t seem to be far behind.

He eyed the former Prime once more, but kept a pleasant expression on his face as he gestured at the other mech. “Please, sit down. You’ll be more at ease for our discussion.” He watched with approval as the bulkier mech sat in the couch, with more grace than his frame belied, and refused successively several drinks offered by Swindle before almost grudgingly accepting an infusion of Crystal leaves, commenting on the ‘sweet, light scent’ and the ‘refreshing taste’.

This, to Smokescreen’s optics, had been a first, subtlest test of character, and one several applicants had failed, especially the beginners in the profession.

The ‘test’ had been one of his ideas, and one Swindle had approved of after some explanations. Allowing the interviewees to choose and take a drink was supposed to put them more at ease, but it also gave away some little things on their preferences and on their knowledges of additives and supplements. Most of the drinks were perfectly normal, ranging from low-grade energon to smooth, overly sweet energon-mead, but others were, should he say, special. For example, the Crystal leaves infusion, which had been prepared following a recipe from a magazine specialized in Sparkling-care, was supposed to be full of extra nutriments and recommended for new Creators who wished to breastfeed their newsparks. As such, anyone who chose this particular drink won points with Smokescreen.

Of course, this Sentinel might have be just very lucky, having refused the rest by some quirk or because of pride and choosing something he thought was simple and cheap, but even so, he had made the right choice in Smokescreen’s optics.

“So, please, Mr Sentinel, tell us more about you,” he said smoothly as Swindle sipped on his own drink, discreetly gesturing at him to start.

The former Prime startled a bit and fidgeted. “Oh, uh, sure. What do you wish to know?”

“Let’s start with something basic. Where were you born, how old you are, do you have any living relatives, what are your diplomas and qualifications,...?” Smokescreen listed easily, watching Sentinel intently.

The former Prime swallowed. Well, here it was. “I was created in Iacon about 22,000 stellar cycles ago; I grew up in one of the suburbs, near the industrial block A-O17, where both my Creators were employed as factory workers, and I’m a sole Creation. Both Creators are offline by now,” he started easily enough, though he did wonder what was the point of asking him about his family.

“22,000? My, this is rather young,” Swindle intervened. “One has to wonder just how someone so young was able to complete a--” he glanced at an holographic datachip that Sentinel identified as his resume. Immediately, his cheeks reddened, already knowing what the tan and purple mech was going to say. Primus, he wished he hadn’t included that on his resume… but he did have a diplima... “-- a diploma in ‘confectionery decoration’, and that was before deciding to enroll in the Autobots, at that! My, it must have cost you a lot… and I don’t remember factory workers gaining that much,” he added, optics glinting.

Sentinel’s dental plates clenched. What was he trying to insinuate? That Sentinel had made money through traffics, like him? That he was some kind of thief, perhaps? Or that he was lying?

“I took night courses while working part time as an helper in the local bakery. Night courses often take longer to complete, but they’re cheaper for those who may come from a struggling background, which I admit I was,” he said with as much dignity as he could, cheeks still red -- but more from remembering the whole ordeal than from any of Swindle’s possible insinuation. “My Creators financed part of my instruction, but I paid for the other half by myself. As I was growing up, I wasn’t interested in working in the factory like my Creators, and Levure, a Chief Baker with his own shop, lived in our block and knew me since Sparklinghood. As I was nearing adulthood, he proposed to take me as a worker in his shop should I manage to complete the right studies, and he did agree to have me as a part-time worker in order for me to help pay for those studies which, you’re right, were stretching my Creators’ budget more than we would have liked.”

Sentinel thought back about these few stellar cycles spent learning the basis of energon goodies confection with Levure, the big, patient mech looking over his shoulder as he tried to apply himself, with good or mixed results. The former Prime privately thought that the bakery thing hadn’t really been something he had been looking forward to, even back then. However, it had more advantages than to screw parts together at the factory, and it was definitely cleaner… in some fashion. Oil stains and mineral powders washed away far more easily than the soot and ash coming from the factories and refineries, after all, and it had the merit of being better paid, provided you worked well and managed to sell enough goodies at a competitive price.

Levure’s proposition had been more than welcome, though Sentinel had always pondered why the baker had done so. He remembered how… friendly the mech had always been with him, giving free treats, inviting him over at home to get leftover energon cakes,... He had never done that with the other neighbors Sparklings...

“He must have been a very nice mech,” Smokescreen inserted immediately, focusing Sentinel’s attention back on him -- and on the Sparkling wriggling in his arms, a frustrated expression on his face. “Though I’m curious as to why, if you had started night courses to become a professional baker, you only completed and validated the ‘Confectionery Decoration’ course. I had been lead to understand it was a… complementary diploma, and not a main one. Also, if working in a bakery was your first objective in life, why have you not sought out a job in that branch?”

Sentinel’s cheeks flushed once more. How was he going to explain that?

“I… focused first on the ‘Confectionery Decoration’ degree because it was the fastest, and I had had plans to use the qualification to ask for a few more work hours at the local bakery while completing the three other main courses I had subscribed to,” he started carefully, hoping he wouldn’t make a bad impression. “And then… a recruiter from the Autobot Academy came to give the night class a presentation, and my aim in life… changed, shall we say,” he coughed.

“So you dropped your studies in order to enroll,” Smokescreen mused, though it was clear from his tone he wasn’t exactly approving. “Yes, it is understandable; I do know ‘bots who dropped everything one day to try and pursue a new career. Dropping your studies, however, was most unwise… though I suppose youth can excuse some rash decisions,” he said, smiling.

Sentinel twitched. Dropping the whole ‘confectioneries business’ certainly hadn’t felt unwise, and Sentinel had never regretted it… Well, that’s it, until he was ‘kicked out’ and started to struggle to make ends meet. It’s true that if he had had the rest of the necessary diplomas, he could have had found a job in another bakery. Sadly, there was little to no demand for someone who was just certified as qualified for decoration, and not the actual baking -- no matter the fact that Sentinel did indeed know how to bake.

He had no doubt Swindle and Smokescreen both knew that, so he remained silent on that point, instead trying to work out a different angle, and feeling himself coming short, as he had no idea of what to say presently to show them he could be a good… wetnurse… for the Sparkling who was still trying to escape his Carrier’s arms and was looking at him as if he was an enormous energon goodie.

… weird mental image, he thought, trying not to shake his head.

“Well, now that your military career has come to an end,” Smokescreen asked more diplomatically, “can you give us an overview of what you have done since you… left your position in the Elite Guard?” he asked, making a show of looking at Sentinel’s resume, as if he didn’t know exactly why Sentinel had ‘left’ and what he had been doing.

The way the question had been formulated, circling around the ‘threw out’ part and remaining rather neutral almost soothed Sentinel. Almost. Because now he was forced to share the tale of his humiliation as he started to list every single job he had taken so far -- and each time punctuated by little ‘questions’ from his ‘possible employers’, such as ‘why did you take this job?’ to ‘what kind of valuable experience did you get out of it?’. Swindle in particular seemed to be rather gleeful when he asked for precisions, something that made Sentinel almost shout with frustration and rage.

His mind also scrambled to find good, acceptable answers -- for he couldn’t really say he had taken such or such job on a whim, or because it was his only possibility. Nor could he say that in some cases, he had been asked to take such or such jobs in order to be the Elite Guard’s optics and audios. So he had to carefully weigh his words and explanations, trying to keep things simple: it had sounded like a good job on paper, he had wanted to try and develop new competences, he had given it a go, found out it wasn’t for him, and searched for something else.

He embroidered a bit on what his different jobs had taught him: some insight on the administration, on the difficulties in maintaining an up-to-date public databank, on the necessity of maintaining good customers relationships,...

Questions oriented themselves on his motivations for having this ‘wetnurse/nanny’ job and his actual experience with Sparklings.

That was a part Sentinel apprehended. He tried to be as honest as he could without compromising himself. Officially, as he told them, he had noticed the announce while doing his usual survey of interesting jobs ads and had decided he should try to apply and see if he made the cut -- carefully omitting that he had first discarded the ad as nothing worth his time before an Elite Guard indic had contacted him to tell him to apply. To give himself more countenance and further the illusion, he had also send resume to three other couples in search of a wetnurse. To Sentinel’s surprise, he had been contacted back, and another interview had been ‘scheduled’ for later, supposedly in case he didn’t get the ‘job’ here.

That details about multiple applications seemed to won Smokescreen a little more over. Still, he didn’t stop asking Sentinel questions, and tiredly, the Prime answered again and again. Yes, he had had some light prior experience working with Sparklings, of course -- though it dated back to his own Youngling years, and the ones he had watched over had been older, and not in the need to actually be breastfed. He was ready to do it, though, and felt confident he could provide young Shylock with everything the newspark needed. He ‘loved’ Sparklings, after all. They were all so ‘precious’ and ‘innocent’, so ‘cute’ and ‘utterly adorable’, and one had to watch over them with ‘love’ and ‘tenderness’.

“You’ll excuse my curiosity,” Smokescreen asked smoothly as he tried to calm down his increasingly fussy Sparkling who was still eyeing Sentinel, “but I seem to remember that feeding lines aren’t naturally activated in most adults mechas until they have a Sparkling themselves. And the way you speak, about loving Sparklings… Do you have a little one of your own you haven’t told us about yet?”

“Oh, no, no, nothing like that,” Sentinel said quickly. “I… I had them manually turned on when I… decided to give wetnurse jobs a go,” he finished a bit lamely.

Smokescreen’s doorwings fluttered as he nodded once in understanding. Nothing unusual or suspicious here, Sentinel repeated himself mentally. There were a lots of ‘bots whose feeding lines didn’t come automatically online even after giving birth, and who needed them activated by a medic before being able to use them. And there were ‘bots who had them activated even without having bitlets of their own… for a variety of reasons Sentinel didn’t wish to contemplate.

Swindle made a small noise. “No Sparkling? How regrettable. I’m sure Shylock would have liked a playmate his age,” he said as he patted his son’s little helm. The Sparkling huffed a bit and tried to push his Sire’s hand away, while still looking at Sentinel intently. Honestly, the former Prime was starting to find it a bit creepy. “I take there is no significant other either?” the merchant asked lightly.

Sentinel frowned a bit. “No, there isn’t,” he allowed after a moment, almost wondering aloud why the other mech wished to know so.

“Hmm, good. I have nothing against employees who are Bonded or fiancé or just in couple, but they tend to ask for days off at the worst of time,” the tan mech smiled. “I always found that single ‘bots are always more… flexibles when it comes to work schedules.”

Oh, that was all? Sentinel felt some of his tenseness ease away -- and doubly so as he realized that, if Swindle was speaking of ‘schedules’ and the likes, then it means they were seriously considering hiring him. It baffled the blue mech.

Was Intelligence right? Did he seriously have a chance to get hired? Because it was starting to sound more and more like that.

As such, he felt very shocked when questions once again shifted toward a more sensitive and shocking subject. “Excuse me?!” he choked out, optics widening. “No, I don’t have any addictions or dependence to… to boosters or anything of the like!”

“Peace, peace,” Swindle said smoothly. “It is a simple question, and one we are entitled to ask the interviewees we see, as they’re applying for a position as caretaker for a Sparkling. Most jobs with youth require applicants to go through various systems testing, as well as giving out a copy of their public records, to check they have committed no criminal activities. However, perhaps I shouldn’t have asked anyway -- your public record is quite clear about your… straightforwardness, and your energon sample was analyzed prior to anything and was reported clean -- and of excellent quality, I must add.” He lounged in his seat. “Truly, it is good to know we’re facing an honest, hard working ‘bot such as you.”

… Was he allowed to laugh at the irony of _Swindle_ saying so? Because it was very tempting.

“... And I’m glad to being considered by such honest looking employers,” he finally let slip, amused when he saw Swindle frowning in answer, even as his mate laughed.

“The pleasure is ours, I assure you,” the doorwinged mech said, still chuckling a bit. “Now, perhaps we should talk about salary and living conditions, yes?” He didn’t let Sentinel answer before continuing. “Being a wetnurse for Shylock will be a very taking work, and whoever we will chose will be bound first and foremost to Shylock’s needs. In clear, his wetnurse mustn’t be afraid to be awaken at night to feed him, and be entirely disponible for him. For that, the wetnurse is supposed to have his own room in the nursery, with all the basic accommodations: berth with its pillows, sheets and covers, table, chairs, shelves, cupboards, desk, comm station and Tri-D screen. As well, there’s also a small private washracks alongside, equally furnished with all necessary components,” he added smoothly. “For the wages, we were thinking of using the tariffs referenced by the Wetnurse Association of Paradron -- so, about one hundred and fifty credits by day worked. While I do know it doesn’t sound like much, keep in mind that you’ll also get the board and fuel during the duration of your contract, and that you’ll be able to save that money.”

Sentinel nodded slightly. It was very true; without having to concern himself over fuel and board, one hundred fifty credits a day were a pretty good offer. Eck, none of his previous jobs had had such a ‘high’ salary so far! All that for letting a bitlet… suckle from his pouch, that seemed almost too easy. “It sounds perfectly reasonable…” he started to say.

“As mentioned before, taking care of Shylock will keep you -- I mean, the wetnurse -- very busy. It doesn’t mean, of course, that Shylock’s wetnurse won’t have days off -- everyone need them, after all,” the doorwinged mech continued as if the former Prime hadn’t said anything. Sentinel noted the slip though, and felt somewhat hopeful. “Days off will be paid half the price of a work day -- this is reasonable, is it not? Days off will be granted to the nurse at a rate of about one every thirty solar cycles.”

Sentinel’s optics widened a bit. “That seems… very few,” he said carefully, wary of how his small objection could be taken. Basically one free day by orbital cycle? How was he expected to help the Guard and inform them or receive new instructions if he couldn’t get in contact with them more than that? Especially in case of unexpected developments? Sure, Smokescreen had mentioned there was a comm station reserved for the wetnurse, but Sentinel wasn’t stupid enough to try and use it -- it was probably bugged. And he noted that there hadn’t been anything said about receiving guests yet, so there was a distinct possibility it wouldn’t be allowed.

“This is the standard offer we give all of our staff,” Smokescreen answered, apparently not perturbed by Sentinel’s small objection. “A household custom, as you might say. However, this is just a basis, and this isn’t settled in stone. Our employees can always request for more days off, and we’re more than ready to grant them, provided they fulfill certain… conditions first,” he allowed. “Provided it doesn’t leave us with a short-out of staff members and that we were asked sufficiently early, we have never refused to give someone more leave. It is noted in the contract, and you whoever we employ can easily check it.”

“Oh, uh, this is… good,” Sentinel answered lamely.

“Additionally,” Swindle inserted, “like all members of staff, Shylock’s wetnurse will have to wear an uniform. I hope it isn’t a bother?”

Sentinel bite his lips. “None,” he assured, though his mind flashed to the fabric-clad mech who had escorted him to the room. Was he really supposed to wear something like that? … Beggars couldn’t be chooser, he resigned himself. Besides, they hadn’t looked so bad, so it shouldn’t put a strain on his dignity.

Swindle coughed. “We may also ask our wetnurse to go through some… minor cosmetic changes. For aesthetic and thematic reasons,” he added smoothly. “You may not know, but it is very common among Nobles or rich household to try and uniformize the appearance of their staffs, for example by having them repainted in a specific color scheme or by procuring them a specifically crafted livery with the arms of the House.”

“A bit like the Autotroopers,” Smokescreen added spontaneously with a big smile as his Sparkling started to make angry noise and he rocked him to calm him down.

Sentinel thought about it. Yeah, he had heard rumors… “It seems reasonable and perfectly understandable,” he allowed, even if he was rather disatisfied by the news. He liked his frame like it was, slag it! However, if he was to get that job, he had to agree to everything they wanted of him…

Smokescreen clapped. “Excellent! Please, rise,” he asked, and Sentinel executed himself. “Well, your resume seems serious, even if your lack of actual experience with Sparklings downplay it slightly,” he said as he put down the chip he had been holding to take better care of his Sparkling. “You seem a most polite, serious mech, and you agree to all the conditions we put. However, before pronouncing ourselves, there’s a last thing we will ask of you.”

Sentinel leaned a bit forward, tensing.

“Care to show us the goods?” Swindle asked, smirking and his optics flashing briefly with what Smokescreen knew was humor… and something more.

Cheeks flushing, Sentinel spluttered for a moment before the doorwinged mech raised a hand to try and calm him, even as Shylock was practically bouncing on his lap, hands reaching out for the other mech. “What my Bonded is trying to say rather crudely, for which I’m sorry, is that we would both like to see your pouches to assure ourselves of their size and quality. And as you can see, Shylock is quite impatient to try them,” he added as he steadied his Sparkling, who pouted and started to whine, hands still reaching for Sentinel.

Sentinel coughed awkwardly for a moment, ducking his head, embarrassed. Where they really asking him…? “Do you, uh… do you mean you want me to… feed him now? Before you?” he said, trying not to squeak. Primus, he hoped not! It would be so embarrassing and so… wrong!

His hopes he had misunderstood were quickly crushed when Smokescreen just nodded. “But of course! After all, it’s not like we won’t ever see them later on. Our wetnurse will be coming with us and Shylock on various business travel and family vacations, not to mention we both want to be able to spend time with our Creation. And given how often young Sparklings have to refuel, we’re bound to see Shylock’s wetnurse in action. Do you have a problem with nursing in public or semi-public?” he asked almost regally, staring straight at Sentinel.

“... I… I had just never considered the idea,” the Prime stammered. “I… I will of course do so, if the… if the Sparkling needs me to,” he added quickly. He had almost said ‘the job’, but he didn’t thought the answer would have been right. Smokescreen just nodded slowly in acceptance at his answer, while Swindle’s smirk took a more ironic edge. Sentinel’s Spark surged at that; slag, what he wouldn’t give to actually hit the salesmech in the face!

“Well, Mr Sentinel?” Smokescreen asked calmly.

Spark heavy, the former Prime executed himself, mentally sending the command to his chestplates to part, gears working fast to unlock the layer behind which his deflated pouches lied in wait. Mental command after mental command, he had the small fuel purification and production unit located deep into his body start working, sending their production directly into the lines leading to the pouches. In turn, the soft rubber-like parts started to extend, slowly gaining in volume as fuel lines increased in size and pumps made the empty parts of the pouch swell up as well, giving them their round form.

The process seemed to take forever to Sentinel, but in actually, it was over in a few kliks, and Swindle and Smokescreen both leaned forward to get a good look. Shylock, still held still by his Carrier’s hands, chirped happily and loudly, thrilling at the sight of the two full pouches. As Smokescreen tried to stop the bitlet from wriggling out of his reach, Swindle left his place by their side to come and inspect Sentinel closer.

Swallowing and trying to not fidget, the former Prime let himself be examined. He couldn’t stop himself from yelping, though, when Swindle suddenly grabbed his pouches and started to squeeze and fondle them. He battled the reflex from swatting his hands away and tried to stay at attention, as he would have under review by a superior when he was a Cadet. But Kup Minor certainly had never taken such liberties with him...

“Wow, they’re big,” Swindle commented, whistling, and Sentinel stiffened, optics offlining briefly as he reminded himself he needed to get that job, for more than one reason. It wouldn’t do to hit Swindle, even if he merited it for being a criminal if nothing else. So he just tried not so grimace as his pouches were squeezed even more, the tan and purple mech testing their elasticity and firmness. “Hmm, interesting. The rubber lining is firm, but also very soft at the same time, and very pliable,” he added as he pushed a finger against one of the pouches.

He stopped abruptly and took a step back, nodding before turning to his mate. “I think our Sparkling will never go hungry with such fuel sources at his disposition,” he said cheerily.

Sentinel let out a strained laugh, trying to smile. “I… would hope so,” he muttered, trying to look at anything but Swindle’s smug face or down at himself and the… things on his chest. He was growing more and more uncomfortable as Swindle continued to eye him, and he noticed Smokescreen was doing the same thing, just least intently.

“It does look very promising,” the doorwinged mech allowed, smiling a bit as on his lap, Shylock wriggled even more, cooing and chirping at the sight of Sentinel’s full pouches, looking almost desperate to just crawl toward and grab them. He felt a small pang of jealousy; his beloved Sparkling had never acted like that with him. It was very brief, however, as he reasoned that having Shylock so taken by his (future) wetnurse would allow him more time to concentrate on business. Even if he trusted Swindle to lead them -- mostly -- a good part of his close associates and the board members of several of his companies remained leery of his Bonded, and Smokescreen knew it would take a while before they dropped their outward suspicions, thus why his presence at work would be even more necessary in the first few coming stellar cycles.

“It seems our son is more than ready to have a taste, don’t you think, darling?” Swindle said smoothly as he too noted his Creation’s behavior, optics glinting with mischief. Now, it was the moment of verity.

Sentinel almost squeaked. Almost. As it was, he swallowed dryly and tried not to fidget. “Uh… what… what should I do? I mean, do you want me to take him, or do you want to give it to me?” he added quickly, guessing his question felt weird and suspicious.

“Swindle, if you will?” Smokescreen said as he handed the wriggling bitlet to his mate, who took him easily and walked over Sentinel.

“Of course,” the tan and purple mech said smoothly. He nodded at the former Prime and gestured for him to sit down, which the blue mech did -- well, it was more like he fell down on his aft in the couch, something that amused Swindle greatly. He was rather enjoying having the smug and far too proud former Autobot Officer squirm before him -- and squirm because of a Sparkling, of all things! Oh yes, having him around in the household was going to be fun! “There, sweetspark, he’s all yours,” Swindle said, cooing as he handed the mechlet to Sentinel.

His hold on Shylock was rather awkward -- it showed the mech wasn’t used to actually holding Sparklings or smaller beings in general, be they pets or organics or drones, Smokescreen noted. However, the hold was still good and steady, and even if there seemed to be some reluctance flashing briefly in the mech’s optics, Sentinel slowly moved the famished, thrilling Sparkling to his pouches.

The former Prime, for his part, swallowed as he tried to balance the weight of the Sparkling in his arms. He wasn’t very heavy -- he was, actually, far more light than Sentinel had supposed, which surprised him -- but he was moving a lot, rubbing himself against Sentinel’s pouches and chirping happily, little olfactive sensor sniffing as he chirped even louder, under the indulgent look of his Creators and the unease of Sentinel. Shylock buried his face several time in Sentinel’s pouches as if, like his Sire, he was trying the dual firmness and softness of it, before focusing on the nubs of the pouches, brushing his face against them, making small noises.

Finally, seeming pleased with his ‘inspection’, he made his move.

Sentinel winced at the tiny mouth of the Sparkling latched suddenly on one of his nubs and greedily started to suck it. Frag, these things were sensitive! He hadn’t realized how much! And was it him or… was the nub actually stretching and swelling a bit?! Was it normal?! He looked down in panic at the Sparkling lodged against his chest, but the little one didn’t seem annoyed or panicked. The blue mech instead had to refrain himself from moaning as the Sparkling continued to steadily suck on his nub. Still, no fluid seemed to come out of it.

Just his luck… of all the time to have a defect, it was now! What was he going to say to Intelligence if he failed? Then again, if he didn’t get the job, he couldn’t say he’d be sorry. After all, the whole thing was making him increasingly uncomfortable.

With a poor smile, he lifted his gaze and looked at the two attentive Creator. “It… it doesn’t seem to work,” he tried to excuse himself.

Smokescreen frowned a bit, but Swindle seemed a bit thoughtful. “Ah… it wouldn’t be the very first time your offer your pouches to be suckled on, would it? When you send us a sample with your application, you took out the Sparkling-grade energon with a pump, didn’t you?”

Sentinel’s cheeks flushed, and he opened his mouth to answer, but Swindle cut him off easily. “Nevermind. Given your sudden change in color, I’m going to guess it is. It’s nothing to worry about then; your systems are simply taking a little moment to adjust as they recognize the move of suckling and Shylock’s ID codes. If I’m right, you should start leaking about…”

Sentinel gasped as he suddenly felt something wet get out of the nub the tan and blue Sparkling was eagerly sucking on and he shifted uneasily, though he didn’t try to remove Shylock from his position, instead trying to take it in stride and relax. His hands automatically moved to change his hold on the Sparkling, making sure he wasn’t putting any pressure over the little one’s stomach plate and the small fuel tank underneath -- a move Smokescreen watched with approval.

“... now,” Swindle completed with a smirk.

::He has lot to learn about actual care, but I’d say he has good instincts,:: Smokescreen sent over on their private comm line. ::Shylock certainly seem to enjoy himself,:: he added as he contemplated the spectacle of his son suckling his possible wetnurse with gusto. It was the first time the little one seemed to get so voracious -- even when Smokescreen had fed him from his own pouches, he hadn’t seemed very interested, taking only mouthful before stopping and fussing to get released.

Here, the Sparkling was actually trying to wriggle his way to nest better into Sentinel’s arms, never letting the nub in his mouth escape him. He was also making a lot of noises as he swallowed, something that seemed to put the former Prime a bit ill-at-ease, but that Smokescreen watched once more with approval and affection. It was good to see his son had finally found a fuel source he was happy with. Shylock had been so difficult from the start, he had been worried he’d end up with a stunted croissance due to his unwillingness to refuel.

If suckling from the former Prime could get him to be so glutton…

“I think I have seen enough,” Smokescreen finally allowed as Shylock let go of Sentinel’s first nub with a happy thrill before shifting and latching on the other, suckling eagerly. “Shylock seems convinced, and Swindle and I are… convinced as well. You have the job,” the doorwinged mech said with a nod as Sentinel looked at him, startled.

“Really?” the former Prime said, feeling rather dumbfounded, though he gathered his wits easily enough. “Thank you, sirs. You won’t regret it, I swear.”

“No, I don’t think we will,” Swindle answered airily as he took out a full electronic pad and a stylus out of subspace and put them on the low table separating the couches. “Now, if you’d want to sign the work contract, as to make your hiring as Shylock’s wetnurse official…”

“Uh, sure,” Sentinel said, shifting and leaning forward as well as he could while still holding the Sparkling’s small frame huddled securely against his own. The… sucking motions and the feeling of the fluid gushing out felt very weird, and he winced a bit as he felt Shylock almost bit him. It was very distracting, and he had a hard time reading the first few paragraphs of the contract.

The lines were all written in small characters, and he had to refocus his optics several times to decypher them -- especially after he saw that the glyphs used weren’t standard Iaconian, like most administrative documents Sentinel had seen until then, but modern Praxian. They weren’t that hard to read, but they were… denser in meaning. A single glyph could be used for a whole group of words, and some had multiple meaning depending on the contest.

Trust Swindle to make things look excessively complicated.

He glanced over at the document. At first glance, it seemed honest enough. He saw the paragraph pertaining to the lodging of the wetnurse, he saw the date of the contract’s end -- vaguely described as ‘when the Sparkling would be weaned’, he saw the details of the salary,... Some glyphs, he had more trouble understanding right away, though he did manage to see the ones about ‘uniform’, ‘body appearance’ and ‘days off’, lost somewhere in the mass of lines. He knew he needed to read it in more details, but right now, he just wanted it over with. Hand as steady as he could, he put on his signature on the pad.

“Excellent!” Swindle cheered as he took the document back and subspaced it. “Welcome to Balas Manor’ staff, Sentinel. Contract will be effective by tomorrow. Until then, you’re free to go and collect your possession as well as give your leave to whatever place you were living at.”

The former Prime nodded and mumbled an answer. Swindle’s smile was starting to turn into a smirk.

“Be sure to be here tomorrow by 0700. We’d like you to look like one of the staff as soon as possible, and you’re in luck. One of my friends who work in the medical field is just dropping by tomorrow, he’ll be able to handle the cosmetic changes right away,” the tan and purple mech inserted smoothly. “He’ll have you reformated in no time, and then you’ll be free to start taking care of Shylock.”

Sentinel blinked. Wait, reformat?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit, the ‘confectionery decoration’ degree was just because I wanted to give Sentinel a funny but also useless qualification -- useless for an Autobot officer, anyway . ;)
> 
> I have another chapter half-written, though it's doubtful I'll ever finish it by now. I've since moved to other stories, most of which are also unfinished. Ugh. I'm bad with long stories. X_X  
> Nonetheless, I hope to post the unfinished chapter at some point, if only for you readers who would like it.  
> I've also a series of drabbles and ficlets featuring Adult!Shylock/Sentinel which I hope to post later as well.


End file.
